fandomhigh | Living On Your Own, Friday, 8/8, Period 1

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living on your own

Living On Your Own, Friday, 8/8, Period 1

The home ec classroom looked more like an art class today, with home decorating catalogs strewn about and a stash of shoeboxes on one table with felt, paper, fake flowers, wallpaper and carpet samples, scissors, paint, modeling clay and other ~~moddable~~ supplies in abundance.

"Morning," Tyler said, once the students were mostly assembled. He had a large travel mug of coffee in one hand. "Today is our class on decorating, or, how to make whatever dump you're holed up in feel a little less like a dump."

He hesitated before talking again. "You don't have to do any of this. You are not your Pottery Barn rug or your clever coffee table shaped like a yin-yang. Stuff gets oppressive ... you do not want a life defined by stuff."

"But," he added, a smile dancing somewhere around his eyes, "I've been told I'm an extremist on this. And on the theory some of you might someday want more than a futon and a coffee maker, you're going to spend class today constructing and decorating dioramas of rooms in your future home. It can be a bedroom, a living room, a kitchen if that's where your mind goes. Here are some handouts on low-cost decorating for you to get some ideas."

He gestured to the table of supplies. "There's building stuff and some catalogs for more ideas over there. Go to it. I'm around if you need help."

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Well. No. Everything was not normal. But if that is they way he wanted to play, she could too.

"I know."

...

"I have something for you," she nearly whispered. "A gift."

"Really?" Cal looked at Amber with evident surprise, blinking a little, although it seemed as though he was fairly pleased to hear it, too, especially since a small grin quickly filled in the surprise. "What for? My birthday's not until January."

The surprise was sweet, so was the grin. She returned the latter. "January, uh? I'll have to write that down. It's just a little something I bought for you." And it meant a lot to her and if he laughed or refused it, Amber would feel rotten.

"I just don't have it with me now." She wasn't sure if he was going to talk to her or not so wasn't going to test his mood by offering a gift.

"You gonna bring it to the performance tonight?" Cal grinned a little more, his other hand joining the first under his chin. He couldn't help it; if there was anything to make him believe that Amber really didn't hate him or was awkward, it was something like that. He didn't deserve it, of course, but he wouldn't complain, not at all.

And it helped that he was pretty sure that Amber was too straightforward and not vindictive enough to mean something awful when she said 'gift.'

"If you'd like," she replied, her cheeks tinged pink. "It's nothing special so don't get your hopes up, thinking I've spent like a trillion dollars on it or something. I'm a frugal woman, you know," she teased lightheartedly, feeling better being around him with every minute that passed.

"I'm not sure I can accept a gift that wasn't a trillion dollars," Cal informed her.

"Pity," she teased. "I'll have to keep it for myself."

"Well," Cal said, his tone reconsidering. "Was it at least a billion?"

"Not even close."

"...three fifty?"

"Depends. Three fifty what? Hundred, thousand, hundred thousand?"

Cal smirked a little, although it was tinged a little with nervousness. He was glad for the banter, clinging to it, but worried that he might be clinging too much. He didn't want it to disappear, though, because of what happened, but she seemed willing.

"Three dollars," he informed her, "and fifty cents."

Amber clucked her tongue, leaned forward, towards him, and whispered, "I think you are at least worth four."

The whispering wasn't fair; the whispering meant that Cal had to work to hold back not only a grin, but also a catch of breath, a kick of his heart, and a flush to his face, all difficult things to wrangle down, especially when they surged forward so swiftly, you'd think they'd just heard the starting gun of an Olympic marathon.

Over four bucks.

His attempts to restrain it all came out as a slightly scoffing laugh. "Good to know."

She smiled, oddly pleased with herself. Did she unbalance him? She might have hoped so.

"I would never lie."

Well, according to Bob Presto, four bucks was a little steep, but that was talking about minute rates, and maybe with inflation of thirty two years worked in, it might come close. Cal lightly smiled back. "I know you wouldn't."

And now, bantering overwith, awkwardness took hold of her. She wasn't sure what to say even though she could talk forever. Just not here, and nothing he would wish to hear.

"How have you been," she decided to say. "Since the other night," she added that just because.

He wondered if that turn was inevitable.

"I've been okay," he said, with a duck of his head in a nod. It would have been a lie if he hadn't added, "since Wednesday. I just kind of...took a day," to get over himself, "to relax, and it helped a lot."

"Uh-huh," she murmured. "Know what you mean." She didn't get over herself though. She got over him. Or tried. Was trying.

Watching her thoughtfully, head slightly tilted, Cal asked, "How about you?"

"Oh, you know," she chuckled, the sound odd. "Been busy I guess. Keeping myself busy more like," she admitted without looking at him.

"Are you..okay?" Cal asked, lowering his voice into the same whisper they were restricted to in the cabin, watching her even more carefully now that he noticed she wasn't looking at him anymore. "About what happened?"

He wasn't sure what he meant more: the truth that he told her or the fact that he'd kissed her. Or even that he had wanted to.

What a silly question. What a silly boy.

She looked up. "Do you think I'm okay?"

Cal ducked his head shamefully, realizing the stupidity of his question. "No," he said quietly. "I guess you...really wouldn't be."

"...Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, Cal. There's nothing for you to be sorry for. If anyone should be sorry it's me," she told him. "I feel now that I pushed you, wanting you to like me."

She shrugged, looked down. "I'm dealing," she whispered.

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